


Bad Timing

by amber_sword_lilies



Category: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Blood, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Pregnancy, Strong Language, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 17:57:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16454693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amber_sword_lilies/pseuds/amber_sword_lilies
Summary: The boys react to an unplanned pregnancy, and later live with the choices made.





	1. Foreword

No problem, you thought to yourself, running over through the same thoughts in circles. The stomach flu that’d been going around, you’d been a little worn out lately, but you’d definitely taken your pills. There was no way. So why were you shaking? 

You took a deep breath and thought of running water. The litre you’d drank should’ve been enough, but here you were, conjuring thoughts of waterfalls and streams, trying to distract yourself from that heavy feeling. There, done.

You washed your hands, forcing your eyes onto that small window. That tiny door to the future you’d planned that could slam shut any second now.

One line.

…

…

…

Two.

“Oh gods…” 


	2. Noctis - Discovery

You cursed the test in your hand. You took a few deep breaths and stormed from the bathroom. He was still a soft heap in the bed. He stirred when you knelt on the mattress, dark lashes parting slowly like butterfly wings, revealing the deep blue.

“Noct,” you coaxed him softly from sleep. Normally you’d take his hand, play with his hair, kiss him. Now you were afraid to touch him. You’d stain him. You were a lapse in his careful judgement. You were the road to ruin that he’d sprinted down. 

You were carrying the first royal bastard in seven hundred years. 

The last had caused war.

She’d been from a region north of Cleigne that had since been wiped from memory. No one living knew the name. Those lands were empty and still ravaged by the war the queen had waged. The Empire had since taken them and continued to squeeze life from the outer regions after finding the northwest to be nothing but bones and bare rock.

“Noct!” you called as he slipped from consciousness again. His eyes flew open and he sat up.

“Wha-?” he croaked, shaking himself awake and searching your features. 

You were suddenly aware of your trembling lip and watery eyes, of the fear shaking your breaths. He frowned before you could wipe that evidence away. You flinched away from the hand that moved to hold yours. 

“What’s going on? Is it-?”

“I’m pregnant,” you blurted, afraid that if you didn’t say it fast you’d never get the words out.

He was motionless, suddenly carved into stone sixty years too early. You didn’t think any more colour could drain from him. Blue eyes fogged with confusion.

“You… what?” His face pulled halfway to a snarl.

“I’m fucking pregnant!” you spat the words, hating the bitter taste of them in your mouth.

You could see him reaching for his wrist, thumb and forefinger ready to pinch himself awake. Ready for all this to be a bad dream. Ready for this to not happen.

You’d reached out to stop him before you could stop yourself, his skin burning under your fingers. He took a shuddered breath at the contact. You tried to tear your hand from him, but he grabbed your wrist, staring into you with watery eyes that were freezing so fast you could see them crack.

“Test was wrong,” he decided. You shook your head and sniffed. You wrenched away from his tightening grasp. “It was wrong!”

“I took four, Noct! All positive!” You tried your best not to shriek at him, aware that Citadel walls were thinner than they seemed. 

He threw himself from the bed, thundering into the bathroom and slamming the door. He didn’t have to lock it. You knew better than to be there. He’d find the latest one, at least. Those two lines that would lead his astray. As if you hadn’t already. Two lines that were tracks under a runaway train that was never meant to go that way. We should’ve known better. 

You were perched on the end of the bed when he left the bathroom, sniffing and blue eyes turned red. He took careful steps towards you and wrapped his arms around your shoulders. You let your head fall against his chest.

“I’m sorry…” he croaked. “I didn’t mean to-.”

“Me neither,” you whispered. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, craning down to kiss your cheek. “I hurt you…”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It does. I’m sorry,” he sighed, voice heavy with shame. That same weight was pulling in your gut. He knelt in front of you, hands clasping yours and eyes on your face.

“Look, I know this is crazy but… we could do this.”

You couldn’t look away, shocked by the certainty in his words. Here he was, the future king, kneeling in front of you, begging forgiveness and offering sanctuary. 

“We…?”

“We could. If you want to.”


	3. Noctis - Consequence

“Let me through!”

“Highness, I really must insist-.”

“You’re not stopping me, Specs! That’s my-!”

“Noctis!”

Ignis stood in front of him, his tall figure suddenly broad shouldered and solid, blocking the door. A firm hand gripped his shoulder as he tried to catch Noct’s frantic eyes.

“What?!”

A tiny, warbling cry echoed from behind his friend. The snarl fell from the prince’s face, replaced by wide blue eyes and pale lips parted in silent prayer. Thank the gods.

A small smile broke the hard line of Ignis’ lips. He held Noct at arm’s length, hands on his shoulders as he leaned forward and spoke in earnest. 

“Noct…” 

The young prince focused loosely on him. He was about the only thing in the room that wasn’t spinning.

“Congratulations,” he beamed.

You were catching your breath when Noctis stormed in. He paled when he saw you. You knew you probably looked abominable; hair sticking to your face, coated in sweat, eyes set in dark sockets. To be fair, your really didn’t care right now. You stared at him, vision sparking at the edges. You were about to black out. Then a midwife blocked your view and handed you a small, gurgling bundle. 

Even though every muscle in your body ached, limbs still twitched from the sting and shock of it all. But there they were. Tiny, soft and wriggling in your arms, wide eyes blinking in the world. Your own filled with tears for a hundred reasons, but a few stood out. Pain, exhaustion and no small amount of love had you spilling over, pressing your forehead against hers.

He dodged past the cloud of formal addresses, racing to your side. He was a flurry of stumbled words and half-finished questions. One look from you silenced him, your eyes tired but teeming with gratitude. The turn of your head revealed your daughter.

You could hear the shuddered breath of the air leaving his lungs. 

“You can, if you want to,” you offered, voice hoarse and thick from crying. It took a moment for him to look at you again, still silently asking for permission, for blessing.

“Are you-?” his usual airy rasp was croaked into words. Deep blue eyes searched yours, full of all the fear and excitement you’d come to know so well. A weak smile flashed on your face.

“She’s yours too, Noct.”

He returned with a wide grin, laughing nervously as you brought his hand to the now sleeping newborn. Just like her father. He sniffed, wiping a tear away with his sleeve. One of his slender fingers slipped into the soft crease of her palm. She grasped it, tiny fingers barely wrapping around his. A broad smile graced him, ocean eyes creasing as he pulled his gaze from her to you. You were watching her, trying to memorise every detail of that tiny face, wondering how she’d change yet sure she’d remain perfect.

His other hand gently stroked the back of your neck. You’d given him this. Yes, there would be consequences. Scandals. Rumours. A cloud hanging over her head. That didn’t matter. Not when he was determined to teach her to dance in the rain, to rejoice in the clamour of the storm, to dive into the oceans it created and make them her own. Not when he was determined to be worthy of another blessing from the gods. 

The hand on your neck gently turned your head. He caught your lips with his, pressing every prayer he could through that kiss. 


	4. Prompto - Discovery

You squealed. The sound left your throat sharper and louder than it was meant to. You could hear the thudding of his bare feet coming from the kitchen. 

“You okay, babe?” he asked, knocking against the door.

“Y-yeah.”

The affirmation was shaky and weak. You curled up on the lid of the toilet seat. His voice was softer when he called again.

“You sure? I mean-.”

“No!”

He was already in the bathroom, worry unwelcome on his boyish features. Mouth open, but not smiling. The roses on his cheeks withered and fell away with the same cold wind of fear that drew down his spine like a knife. His eyes were wide, but not in wonder. They were always too fast, those cosmic eyes. He saw it before you could hide it. The test up your sleeve, the shaking of your bottom lip, the fear flashing in your eyes. 

“Prom, I-.”

“What does it say?”

His voice quaked, but you’d never seen him so still. He was frozen, held in place by shock and hinged on this moment. You nodded, looking up at him. 

He was in front of you instantly, arms wrapping around you and face buried in your neck. You shook against each other, somehow reaching stillness through mutual tremors. Perfect equilibrium through shared entropy. 

That was what you’d always been as a couple. Two balls of chaos, lulled into calm by each other. Able to stop and breath, not fearing the passing of each moment as they flew past. Time slowed with each other in the softest way, stretching your days from rosy dawns to dripping, honeyed sunsets and the cool blue of nights spent awake together, hands intertwined and minds too busy searching existence for something that explained the two of you.

But this. This would change that. This would throw your balance and change equilibrium point. 

He was squeezing too hard. For the first time, he was too close. He felt you stiffen in his arms and had to pry himself away. You watched silently as he sat on the edge of the tub. Those galaxy eyes watched your face twitch through confusion, fear, excitement, curiosity, everything. This would change everything. 

“So…” he gulped. “This is uh…”

“New.” The word shot from your mouth.

“Yeah,” he breathed. His hand rubbed the back of his neck, pulling at the base of his hair hard enough to make him wince. “I was gonna say big.”

“Huge.”

You reached for his hand, steadying yourself against his twitching fingers. He pulled his gaze from the bathroom floor to you, searching for the thoughts that flashed behind your eyes and made your features run through a cycle of expressions. 

He deserved better than this. He deserved a picture-perfect life. A white wedding that you weren’t sure you belonged at anymore. The year or two as newlyweds, living in the rose tint and the golden hour. Then a bump in the road. A swelling belly, a perfectly documented growth and finally tiny hands, fingers, toes. Shining eyes that seemed to hold a world they’d barely seen. That was how it was supposed to go. That was waiting for you in a blank photo album, to be filled years from now.

Kids were way off in the background, but this had hauled them to the fore. They were so close to the lens of that vision you couldn’t focus on anything.

You’d interrupted that rhythm. You’d broken the sequence and messed the storyboard. Somehow, you’d ruined the development of photographs he was yet to take, throwing them deep into negatives. Two lines and a positive had slashed through the strings that held the setting moments of the future.

“P-please don’t cry…” he begged. You wiped the tears from your cheeks and tried to work up the courage to look at him. “We- we can… We…”

How could you? You could barely afford to feed yourselves. Prompto had only just avoided pneumonia when you couldn’t afford to heat the apartment. You were making ends meet now, but for how much longer? 

“What do we do?” you asked, bringing your eyes to his. His cheeks were wet. Pale lips twitched around silent words before choking out.

“We figure it out. We- we can figure this out.”

He smiled. It wasn’t his usual ear to ear grin. It was a scared smile, that tried not to twitch with excitement. Chaos had always been the name of the game you two played, and now the rules were changing. When had you two planned anything? When had you tried to enforce order, instead of dancing across stars as they burst into supernova, keeping to a beat the both of you never learned, but somehow knew? You couldn’t help but smile back.


	5. Prompto - Consequence

“Daddy’s home!”

“Shh!” you hissed, leaning over to check your son. There he was; small, plump and finally asleep.

Prompto tiptoed into the living room. He crept past the couch, peeking at the basket. There, nestled in a kicked-off mess of blankets and bright in a chocobo bodysuit, was the baby. Yours and his. Prompto grinned at the baby before planting a kiss on your cheek. 

“Guess who?”

“Oh, I dunno. Some serial killer snuck in, carrying out their evil plans and Prommf!” You gasped, his lips swallowing all your whispered protests in spearmint and a deep kiss.

He stood up again, looking down at you with gleeful victory. You sighed heavily, shuffling on the couch to watch him. The wind and rain had made his hair wilder, and the cold had slapped red into his cheeks and the end of his nose.

“How was today?”

“Pretty darn good. The Marshal thinks I might be ready soon but…” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

“But?”

You followed him into the kitchen, eager to get some hot food into him. The stark colours made him into a caricature; all scarlet cheeks, white skin and bright blue eyes, topped by a shock of blond hair. You pulled some leftover soup from the fridge and put it in a pot. He packed away the groceries whilst mumbling through an explanation.

“He kinda… well. I-I think he wants me to join… Like for real.”

He had to fight his nerve to bring his gaze to you. You stared, open mouthed.

“Prom! That’s amazing!” you tried not to shout, screaming whispers at him instead.

He flashed a shaky grin, but it quickly vanished again. You frowned softly as you stirred the soup, willing it to heat faster.

“What’s wrong?”

You knew exactly what it was. Something he’d admitted in a sleepy haze, a few weeks before your son had been born. You winced when you took his icy hands, rubbing them between yours to put some warmth back in him.

“I… I just- I don’t wanna miss it, you know?” he began, voice hoarse and shaking. Maybe it was the cold, maybe the words. “I wanna be there.”

You smiled softly, searching his eyes with a soft gaze. A million thoughts flashed in the deep cosmos. He didn’t want his son to grow up alone. He didn’t want him to feel unwanted. He wanted him to know where he came from. Know he was loved.

“You are,” you assured him. You cupped his cheeks but couldn’t resist running a hand through his hair. His shoulders dropped an inch at your touch. The comfort was familiar and warming. “And you will be. Don’t worry about it.”

He burst towards you, his cold hands burying in your hair. His chapped lips locked on yours, saying things neither of you could ever have articulated. Things you both understood. You wrapped your arms around his neck, taking in the scents of today. He smelled of the bitter fizz of gunpowder, Crownsguard leather and the clean, fresh air of Insomnia’s cold snap.

You were losing yourself in him, oblivious to the rest of the world. Everything faded into the distance until it was just him and the stars.

And the mewling, snuffling beginning of a quiet cry. Lips parted as you both turned to see tiny fists waving over the rim of the basket.

Prompto pressed a kiss to your cheek and broke away.

“My turn,” he smiled, bounding to the cradle.

He cooed over his son, offering his fingers to the grabbing hands. You quickly made up a bottle. You had maybe three minutes before he would start screaming. When you turned back around, Prompto was spiking up the wispy tufts of hair on the baby’s head, trying to supress his own giggles as the infant sucked at the rosy tip of his nose.


	6. Ignis - Discovery

You thought. This couldn’t be happening. There was a reason this wasn’t supposed to be happening! Neither you nor Ignis had the time for a child and wouldn’t have that option for the foreseeable future. Neither of you had any particular desire for one, not yet.

“I’m home, dearest.”

No way it was that late.

Your blood ran as cold as the sink you gripped, knuckles white and jaw clenched. You wanted to shut the door, lock it, sing ‘I’m in the bath’ and forget about this whole wretched thing. You’d have to come out eventually. But Gods, how you wanted to lock that door, to stop him from seeing this. It was all you could see. How could two wordless lines be so gripping? How could they chain you?

“Darling?”

Ignis appeared at the doorway, a tall and lithe shadow in the corner of your eye. 

“Is everything alright?”

You snapped. It was a rare lapse in your composure, which so often mimicked his. Your hand slapped the test away, batting it towards him. He bent to pick it up, turning it delicately in a gloved hand. You weren’t sure if your vision had blurred from the tears, or if you’d really seen his hand shake.

The silence between you was suffocating.

“Ah,” he choked out.

“Ah? Of all the times you choose to- to be quiet and so fucking composed, you choose now?” you shrieked. Every fibre of you was fighting the ragged, hiccupping sobs that clawed to leave you. He was motionless. Blank. Unsure.

Tears began to spill down your cheeks as you wiped them away. Rage and fear made your hands clumsy, bumping into your face to tear the evidence away with sharp nails.

Until he stopped them, running his thumbs over your knuckles. Until his chest filled your blurred vision. Until his cheek was at your temple, his words falling into your ears.

“It’s alright,” he said, smooth and low and soft. He took a shaky breath. “It’s alright. I’m here and I won’t go… unless you ask it of me.”

You wished he was less honourable. Less loyal. Harder. Crueller. You wished he had the indecency to leave you. 

You could see it in front of you, clear as day. The door to the future you’d imagined, planned, worked for, was shutting and fast. Some gentle breeze of fate was pushing it closed, silently ending that world. You knew another door was opening, but you had no idea what was beyond that threshold. 

“Ignis…” you sighed, breath hitching. He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I don’t know what to do.”

He tilted your chin up, seafoam eyes that were as unsure as yours. He breathed in composure and put surety in his voice.

“Tomorrow. We’ll sort all this,” he nodded. “For now, I think we both need to rest.”

You sniffed and nodded, following him to the bed. He had you wrapped in his arms, stroking your hair until you drifted to sleep. Tomorrow.


	7. Ignis - Consequence

“You really don’t have to do this, you know,” you huffed, picking up the last box of things from your meagre office. He set another down and immediately took the box from your hands.

“Nonsense, it’s my pleasure-.”

“Oh, couldn’t wait to see me gone, huh?” You teased, folding both of your jackets over your arm. 

Somehow, in the unforgiving fluorescent light of the lower Citadel offices, he looked as stunning as ever. Especially with his sleeves rolled to the elbow, supple forearms on show and flexing subtly as he held the boxes. He tried to flick the door open with a polished shoe, only for you to grab it and hold it for him. He hooked his foot around it and looked at you expectantly, a warm tint in his eyes and a softness in his expression.

“That’s not what I was implying.”

“I know,” you sighed, stepping out of your office. As much as it was dingy and cramped and you’d never quite been able to scrub the smell of cigarette smoke from the carpet, it was your second home. It was where you’d met Ignis. It was where it all began. You were waving it goodbye, for now. 

You left the Citadel, walking through door after door and not knowing quite what was beyond. Yes, one door was closing. Another had opened, and you had stepped through. You were living here and now, not then and there. Maternity leave began today. You knew Ignis wanted to take time as well, but the Prince needs advice and that was his calling. 

Once you’d tucked those final boxes away into the car along with the flowers from your colleagues, you clumsily folded into the passenger seat, still adjusting to your growing bump. Ignis slipped into the driver’s seat, as graceful as ever.

Ignis had always been a sensible driver, but never overly careful. He hesitated more nowadays, and he’d given up trying to hide it from you. Driving had always been his sanctum, somewhere he could lose himself and just float on the movement, the control, the speed. At times you could see him drifting back to his old ways, revving the engine until she purred just so, hands slipping over the steering wheel with finesse. In fact, in the car was about the only time Ignis truly settled. 

The same went for his unborn child. Long night drives had become routine to relieve the barrage of kicks you would get, conveniently as soon as you tried to sleep.

Soon enough you were back in your apartment, Ignis busying himself in the kitchen whilst you tucked the boxes into the wardrobe. You had enough time for a shower before dinner. 

Well, more than enough if you counted the time Ignis spent staring when you waltzed into the kitchen afterwards, damp hair in a bun and wearing nothing but a silk robe. He shook his head gently and repositioned his glasses. Did she have any idea how she glowed these days? How was it possible for her to become more beautiful? More perfect? Ravishing, breathtaking-.

“Ignis!”

“Yes?” he bleated, meekly stunned. A smirk pulled gently at the corners of your lips as you repeated yourself.

“What’s needing done?”

He looked back at the stove to survey the situation he’d been so in control of only moments ago.

“I’ll see to the spinach in a moment,” he thought out loud, steam from the pans fogging his glasses. He stilled your hand when you reached for the leaves.

“Ignis. I’m perfectly capable,” you sighed, tilting your head at him.

“Perfectly capable indeed, my love,” his lips brushed across your knuckles, eyes locked on yours. “Go and make yourself comfortable, I insist.”

You shook your head, retreating to the table to watch him. He was settled here too, in the steam and scents of the kitchen. Behind the wheel, he was an architect; every move planned and executed to perfection. At the stove, he painted with passion. Speed. An unpredictable force that moved through his composure with grace, twisting him into a dance.

He put his offering before you; a masterpiece of flavour, steaming with scent. When he sat opposite you and poured himself a glass of wine, you pouted.

“Oh, that’s just teasing.”

His eyebrow lifted ever so slightly. 

“I might have something…” he muttered, gliding away to search through the refrigerator. You followed and stood beside him, watching his breath still when he caught your scent. 

“You might, but I still miss wine.”

He smiled gently. His hand slipped into the robe, pressing against your growing belly.

“Not long now, darling.” 


	8. Gladiolus - Discovery

You breathed. You said the words over and over until you ran out of breath, sobs choking you. That was it. That was the next Shield. Two lines had brought him into existence. Her. Maybe. Why were you getting so damn caught up in this?

You’d sunk to the floor, knees pulled to your chin and hands tugging at your hair with an iron grip. For being so still, you were reeling. What was he going to say? What was he going to do? What were you going to do?

He didn’t have the time, but he so wanted to be a father. You could see it whenever you walked past a stroller. He’d stick out his tongue, soften his expression as much as he could and somehow that behemoth of a man would coax a smile or giggle from any small child that crossed his path. There was no doubt. He wanted to be a dad and he’d be an impeccable one. But now? With you?

You still had two years of your degree to do. There was no way you’d juggle that and a baby. It wouldn’t be fair for anyone. You weren’t ready for this. Not yet.

He’d be furious if you…

“Oh gods!”

You cried, loudly. You took full advantage of the empty apartment and cried until you were hoarse and dizzy. The test snapped in your grip. Your hand bled, sharp plastic biting numb flesh before throwing it across the bathroom floor.

Hours passed.

You were still curled up in that petrified ball when the door opened and shut. You were still trying to remember how to breathe when he dumped his bag on the couch with a ragged sigh. You were silent when he called for you. Still there when he found you.

“Hey babe…” The words slowed as they left him. Blood pooling under your hand. Your body curled on the bathroom floor, as cold and still as the tiles. Eyes open, but you were miles away and lost.

He thought the worst.

He rushed forward, dropping to his knees and cupping your face. The look in your bloodshot eyes terrified him, shook him to his damn core. He turned your hand over. The relief of an unmarked wrist left him in a shaky breath.

“The hell were you thinking?” he growled. His blood was pounding in his ears. He couldn’t see his face pull into that vicious snarl. You couldn’t see past it. Not this time. Normally you could.  You’d have seen the maelstrom of confusion and fear that doused those burning eyes and made them dark. The tears welling in your own distorted everything, like water on glass.

You shrank away from the hand on your cheek, biting the inside of your lip to stop it shaking. You could hear his teeth grinding as he inspected your hand. You hissed an inhale when he pulled a shard of plastic from a cut.

When his massive, dark form stood and loomed over you, you hoped this’d be it. You hoped he’d call you a psycho, that you’d gone too far, that he was done. You hoped he’d rage and burn and bellow. Anything to push past the silence that clouded your ears. To set the sea in your mind, that got darker by the second, on fire.

He slammed the cabinet door shut and muttered curses to himself. When he crouched back down, he had to exhale and still himself before gingerly taking your hand. You looked anywhere but him. He cleaned the cuts, dressing the wound in a fresh bandage before kneeling at your side. The heated curses that left his mouth slowed and quietened, lacing themselves with apologies and softer sighs.

You felt a warm finger under your chin, tilting your face to him.

“Hey,” he breathed softly, summoning your eyes to his. The fire was flickering back, wary like the last lamp in a winter storm. Like sanctuary. “You wanna tell me what that was about?”

Your gaze left his again as more tears slipped out. He brushed them away with his thumb, rubbing at your cheek. You locked on the broken test. He turned and saw it, plucking it from the floor and glancing at those two lines that meant the continuation of his own.

He pulled you in, cradling you against his chest. He still smelled of today; sweat, oil, the faintest lingering shadow of this morning’s aftershave spicing his skin. His hand was in your hair, the other pressing you to him to make sure you were still breathing. His hold bound you to him, ropes tying you to the mast as you fell into the storm.

“Gladio… I- I can’t… I don’t know…”

“Shh, it’s okay ba-,” he stopped himself. You were crumpled against him, safe and still in that gripping embrace. “It’s alright.”

“Gladio,” you sobbed into his chest. He was glad you couldn’t see him, but you were as close to his broken, shuddered breath as he was. He pressed a firm kiss to the top of your head.

“I know, sweetheart. I know. Just… let it out.”

Tears were rare between the two of you. You both preferred to keep a level head and a stoic attitude. Maybe it was strength. Maybe stubbornness. Whatever it was, you were both breaking the habit now. He cupped your cheeks with those warm, calloused hands, and locked eyes with you. His voice was shaking, but sure.

“Listen to me. Anything you want- you need. We’re gonna do that, okay? Whatever it is. Together.”

He bit his lip when you let out a broken, raw cry and fell forwards into his chest. You saw it though, that silent tear slipping down his cheek that meant he understood. Yet he still held you.


	9. Gladiolus - Consequence

You were both quiet. 

In the car. Coming up the stairs. Walking back into the apartment. A heavy silence blanketed the pair of you but offered no warmth. 

You toed off your shoes, nudging them under the bed with tired legs. You had no reason to be tired. You hadn’t run anywhere today, and it was still mid-morning. The city had quietened. Rush hour was over, everyone was at work, or school or simply out. They were all in their places. You were nowhere and everywhere. Anywhere but here. 

You folded onto the bed and closed your eyes. You wished you could sleep. Be somewhere else for a while. Unearned exhaustion cut your vision short, blurring everything past your hands. They might’ve looked clean, but they didn’t feel it. You’d felt it. You could see your fingers stained black from the ink you’d used to sign. The red stain on your hands was your own blood. And his. 

There was no doubt about it. There was a fresh clarity in your mind. A decision had been made, carried out and here you were, on the other side of that sea with a fresh breeze of relief playing at the sails. 

There was no doubt that the weight on your shoulders was gone. 

You’d felt it sink to the pit of your stomach like some cruel replacement that would never grow.

Unable to stare at your own hands anymore, you shut your eyes and tried to focus on anything else. The scent on the sheets. The feel of linen under numb fingers. The mattress dipping behind you. Warmth fighting to leave his body before it died. The tide of his careful breaths. His weight shifting.

Your eyes flew open when his hand met your back, thumb gently rubbing your hip. He needed this. He needed you.

You were both alone now.

You could feel those soft eyes watching you, waiting for something on the horizon. You couldn’t look at him. Not now. Not while those eyes were doused by loss, flames stolen by a cold gale. Not while defeat tarnished the gold of his heart. Not yet. 

He saw your brows knit before you buried your face in the sheets, desperate to hide. 

His weight shifted again. His chest was at your back, face buried in your hair and arms wrapped around you. He held you closer. The warmth of him thawed the hardening in your gut. You’d gone cold, barely able to keep your eyes open and not overly willing to. Every breath he took ebbed warmth back into you.

The nurse said there’d be cramps. Blood. Fatigue. You’d barely feel it. You were further on than you’d thought. You’d felt it. That quick, sharp sting followed by a dull ache.

His lips were on your shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss to your skin. He took your hand in his, thumb stroking gently at your wrist. The lines from the broken test had only just healed, leaving you with new scars. 

A kiss fell behind your ear, light as a petal. 

“It’s alright,” he whispered, soft and smooth for all the thunder, all the crackling lightning and storm and grit he had in that voice of his. All gone, leaving his words as clear and calm as cold water. 

You shook your head weakly and breathed a hoarse response. “It’s not.”

“It will be,” he promised. It was a prediction, a command and a voiced hope, all at once. “I wish you’d believe me.”

Me too.

“I love you,” he confessed. It wasn’t the first time, but it had been a while. “I love you. Do you believe that?”

You felt his chest cave when you pulled your hand from his, hollowing the heart from him. 

“Yes,” you lied.

You turned, burying yourself in his embrace, lips pressed weakly to the base of his throat.

“I love you.”

You were telling the truth that time.


End file.
